My husband, Peter, and I met when I asked him to dance at a Singles Club. I had seen him the week previous at the same club and was determined to meet him.
After that fateful night when we danced, I went home and told my Mum that I had met the man I was going to marry. Our wedding was 18 months later.
We were married for 40 wonderful years.
We cared deeply for each other – he would make my lunch and put little love notes in with it. No matter what else was happening in our lives, we made time to be together over our evening meal and talk about our day. When either of us travelled for work, we were in constant phone contact with each other.
Our only grief was the inability for us to have a family.
Peter died during the Covid lockdown so support was very difficult.
My neighbour was my rock, she and her family were ‘my bubble’. My first Christmas alone was spent with them.
I talked often, and cried, on the phone to family members both in Australia and overseas. But nothing was so good as people contact.
The most helpful language people used was supportive and encouraging without the clichés of ‘time will heal’, ‘you are strong’, etc etc.
Strong is not a good word.
When wallowing in grief, you cannot be strong. You can only take little steps. I now am very careful when offering condolences to someone recently bereaved.
Grief does not leave but it does lessen as the world comes back into your orbit.
There will still be days when getting out of bed is a struggle, so stay there a little longer.
Take ‘me days’ – if you want to sit in the sun and read, do that.
If you want to watch silly shows on television, do that.
Some days you may spend ‘remembering’ and feeling the warmth of shared love.
